


Pumpkin Shaped

by 3musketears



Series: Friend Shaped [2]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Needs a Hug, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Goro's getting therapy and I could not be prouder of him, Humor, M/M, Soft Goro Halloween 2020, gorb - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27291757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3musketears/pseuds/3musketears
Summary: Summary:Akira nudged Goro just enough for his hand to slip, making a small indent in the semi-circle mouth. Goro turned to him and glared. “You just screwed up my pumpkin.”“Sorry,” Akira said sheepishly. “He’s still very cute though. Wanna see mine?” Goro nodded and Akira turned it around for him to see.In every imaginable way, this gourd-like vegetable was superior to the one in front of Goro. If there was a contest, Akira had certainly won. But that was not what filled Goro with conflicted fury as he looked at it.Akira hadn’t carved any old face.He’d carved a spherical creature with a tiny little tie.A foe known for haunting Goro specifically.Gorb.In which Goro is dragged kicking and screaming into a Halloween party with the Phantom Thieves and Akira continues to be an entity that feeds off of chaos.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Friend Shaped [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992700
Comments: 9
Kudos: 107
Collections: Soft Goro Halloween 2020





	Pumpkin Shaped

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween! Huge thanks to Maya for the idea, Liza for checking my typos last second, and PEN FOR DRAWING THIS WONDERFUL ART [GO CHECK IT OUT!](https://twitter.com/PentheDragon/status/1322389238323752961)
> 
> You don't need to read my other fic "Friend Shaped" to understand this one, but it does give a bit of context and it's one of my favorite things I've ever written. But it's also long. Basically, gorbs were a counterfeit Detective Prince merchandise item (named "royal investigator orbs" to keep Goro from suing for using his likeness for profit) and upon discovering them Akira decides to troll his boyfriend.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

It was Goro who drew first blood. The hand which gripped the handle of his knife trembled with anticipation. He brought the blade closer, saw where he wanted to strike. The knife was raised above his head. And then it plunged down with a sickening splat. 

The liquid that gushed out was gooey. Goro bit his lip and twisted the knife deeper. The gash became a hole. More of that thick substance poured out of the incision. Its stench was pungent, unmistakable.

Goro scrunched his nose up in disgust. “What am I supposed to do with all of this.”

Across the table, Sakura Sojiro shook his head and sighed. “You were supposed to cut the top first so we could empty out the guts. Not immediately start carving a face.”

Sticky, orange goo trickled down Goro’s pumpkin and onto Sojiro’s kitchen table. “Oh. Oops.”

“You gotta listen to the tutorial before you can play the game, Akechi,” Futaba said. She was perched on a chair that was too tall for the table with her legs crossed. It wasn’t practical, but perhaps being taller for once made her feel powerful.

Akira had a retort for her ready before Goro’s own counter was done being processed through several filters to make himself more pleasant. “Wasn’t it you who skipped all the tutorials the first time you got your hands on _Breath of the Wild_? And then you didn’t know how the combat system worked so the first enemy you found instantly kicked your elf boy butt.”

Futaba gawked at him. “How dare you question me, gaming peasant! I’m going to take your controllers and play with them until the drift is so bad that when you try to fight me in _Smash Bros._ you instantly self-destruct.”

While they continued to bicker about gaming, Goro quietly got up and retrieved some wet paper towels for his pumpkin gut spillage. Next to the sink, the fridge was covered in colorful magnets. The centerpiece was a photograph of Akira and Futaba in front of the entrance to Shujin Academy, the latter beginning her first day of school in years and beaming with joy.

Sojiro had practically taken Akira in as his own son. He was always invited to come along when the Sakura family went out to dinner and was very much a participant in all family matters. Seeing as everyone who knew them had collectively decided that Akira and Goro were getting married, Goro was also included by virtue of him probably being Sojiro’s son-in-law in a few years.

The lurking feeling of chronic unworthiness ate away at Goro every time, but he had always been horribly selfish, so he never had it in him to turn the invitation down.

Carving pumpkins as a family had been Futaba’s idea. She refused to let Leblanc go undecorated during her first Halloween as a dishwasher and occasional server there. “Spooky season is all the rage, Sojiro,” Futaba explained while she dumped her pumpkin guts into a big bowl. “Making Leblanc spooky is an excellent business strategy.”

“Spooky season,” Goro echoed under his breath. The alliteration was pleasing and it made sense given the theming of the holiday, but Goro hadn’t heard it described as such before.

Futaba seemed to take his repetition as a question. “Spooky season is like Pride Month 2: Electric Spookaloo!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe you, a known mega-gay, aren’t aware of it.”

A known mega-gay. “I know what Halloween is,” Goro clarified. “I was rather fond of it as a child actually.”

He remembered his mother coming home an hour early from work to help him put his costume together the night before Halloween. The two of them had used the magic of construction paper and markers to turn an orange t-shirt and a cardboard box into the uniform and helmet of an x-wing pilot from _Star Wars_. By taping all the paper towel rolls that Goro had saved together, they had built Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber.

When he saw himself in the bathroom mirror, little Goro hadn’t been faced with the usual sight of a too-thin sad child with no money. He’d been transformed into a hero who rose up from humble beginnings and saved the world from the corrupted father who was never there for him. The person he’d seen in the mirror was one of significance and unstoppable goodness.

“It was nice,” Goro concluded with his gaze on his hands in his lap. “To be someone else. If only for a few hours.”

A third hand appeared in his line of vision, resting over his gloved hands. Goro’s eyes followed the arm attached to it to land on Akira’s face. Even when Goro tried to be nonchalant, Akira seemed to always sense when Goro was feeling down on himself. Or perhaps Goro’s masks were slipping. How unfortunate, since ‘twas the season for a good masquerade.

In a way, Futaba’s valiant attempt to lighten the mood seemed to understand that to some degree. “Kinda makes me think about you in the Metaverse.” She turned to Sojiro with wide eyes. “ _Nothing_ is scarier than Akechi in the Metaverse. He looked kinda like a sentai villain, but no cartoon bad man I’ve ever seen was that terrifying. You should’ve seen it! He would run around with his glowing sword screaming bloody murder. One time I caught him climbing up a wall like some kind of hellish cryptid thing to sneak up on a shadow.”

Goro murmured, “It just seemed tactically advantageous to have the element of surprise. Worked fine when it was just me down there.”

The confirmation that she had not made that up changed Sojiro’s expression from one of confusion to one of concern. Goro tried to make himself look small and unassuming in an attempt to assure Sojiro that he was not going to do anything of the things that Futaba was continuing to describe in excruciating detail.

Any sane person would’ve decided that maybe they shouldn’t be letting Goro near a sharp knife after hearing all of that. Having his knife confiscated would be a bit disappointing, but he’d understand the reasoning. 

While he still had it, he neatened up the triangular eye he’d impulsively sliced earlier. The slight asymmetry was bugging him, but it was the famed spooky season. Being alarmed was kind of the point. His twitching right eye perfectly fit the aesthetic.

Akira nudged Goro just enough for his hand to slip, making a small indent in the semi-circle mouth. Goro turned to him and glared. “You just screwed up my pumpkin.”

“Sorry,” Akira said sheepishly. “He’s still very cute though. Wanna see mine?” Goro nodded and Akira turned it around for him to see.

The craftsmanship was nothing short of remarkable. Negative space was utilized expertly to create the illusion of different colors in one image. Futaba had brought down some cheap paints, but Akira hadn’t used or needed to use them. The shapes were distinct, symmetrical, and accurate to a frightening degree. 

In every imaginable way, this gourd-like vegetable was superior to the one in front of Goro. If there was a contest, Akira had certainly won. But that was not what filled Goro with conflicted fury as he looked at it.

Akira hadn’t carved any old face.

He’d carved a spherical creature with a tiny little tie.

A foe known for haunting Goro specifically.

“You did _not_ carve that. Please tell me I’m hallucinating.”

“I mean I sure hope you’re not. You’d have to tell your therapi-”

“I didn’t mean it literally, Akira. I just…” he stared into the carved-out eyes in hopes that the answers could all be found within that hollowed-out pumpkin. “ _Why_.”

That little troll had the nerve to feign innocence. “I was just thinking about you, as always,” Akira replied. He dug a plush orb out of his coat pocket and placed it on top of his masterpiece.

Futaba nearly tipped out of her seat when she saw it. “Akira, you _madman_!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe you’d risk being exiled to the couch for this.”

“Great idea, Futaba-chan!” Goro said with a face full of faux cheerfulness and a knife dripping with seedy guts. “Joker has forfeited his boyfriend privileges for the night.”

Akira sighed. “I’ve been arrested for gorb crimes.”

x

Coming home to find one of the Phantom Thieves vegetating on the couch wasn’t unheard of. Akira’s friends frequently visited his attic last year, so it made sense that the same would go for his apartment, even if his deranged boyfriend now also lived there.

Goro didn’t have a problem with it as long as no one was staying for the night. He liked having a warning first, but he understood that sometimes unplanned visits just sort of happened. Akira’s friends tended to mostly clean up after themselves anyway— it took a few pointed glares to get Sakamoto to remember the abandoned bags of chips, but the effort was there— and it was almost pleasant to have a little variety.

That all being said, Goro wasn’t sure what to think when he walked through the door, hollered his and Akira’s customary “honey, I’m home!” with all the dramatic flair he could muster, and prepared himself to be ravished only to realize that Akira wasn’t the one at the kitchen table.

Okumura Haru was seated there with an industrial-sized frilly lavender sewing machine. It took up the entire table; all of her materials were stacked on top. If Goro stomped hard enough they would all fall to the ground.

Which would be funny until he got a tiny little pin stuck in his foot.

The fabric Okumura was working with was aesthetically contradictory to her massive hulk of a machine. Swatches of black and reds pooled into her lap.

There was only one possible conclusion that Goro could come to given all the visual information presented to him. Akira was not home, so Okumura had taken this opportunity to break into their apartment using extremely expensive tools and raid Akira’s closet for extra fabric since she only owned pastel sheets.

“Greetings, Okumura-san,” Goro said tersely. Normally he’d be a bit more careful with his words around a woman both with the motive and the money to order a hit on him, but frankly, he was just very confused. “Why are you in my house.”

Before Okumura gave him some semblance of an answer, she pressed her foot down on the pedal to finish whatever crease she was fixing up. “Oh! I knew I was forgetting something. My apologies, Akechi-kun. I meant to text you ahead of time to warn you, but I got caught up in arranging to have my machine transported here.”

It must have taken three grown bodybuilders to lug that thing up the stairs. Or just two with Okumura filling that third slot. Rumor had it that under her fluffy sweaters were a pair of arms strong enough to punch a hole straight through his stomach.

“Ah. I see.” Goro actually did not see. But he had to maintain the myth that his face had no wrinkles because they were all on his massive brain. 

He shut the door behind him, effectively trapping himself alone with Okumura until Akira got home. Anything that happened during that time would be concealed from any possible witnesses. Goro wondered if he should be writing his will instead of continuing to gawk at the sewing machine like a nutcracker whose flimsy jaw got snapped off. The steps he took towards the couch were clunky and wooden.

Spying on Okumura seemed reasonable since she was in his house and taking over his kitchen table. But he didn’t want to seem like he was paying any attention to her, so he turned on the tv. It’d been left on a cooking channel from when he was watching it with Akira two nights ago. That was until the contestant he was rooting for got eliminated and he had lost interest, opting instead to enter a staring contest with the pumpkin sitting on their coffee table.

Without a candle to give them life, the eyes of Akira’s orb-o-lantern were even more soulless than those of the actual plush. It was very easy for Goro to find a little orb as a point of reference since they were hidden just about everywhere. A quick search of the drawers yielded consistent results.

Today, the keychain connected to the crown of a gorb’s head had been hung around the knob of the drawer where they stored the tv remote. So Goro was forced to interact with it. He placed the orb on the couch cushion next to him and started to gather intel.

Given the time of year, the logical assumption would be that Okumura was sewing herself a Halloween costume. Goro didn’t quite understand why she would do that when she had the resources to easily commission a very nice outfit, but the fact that she owned such a large machine suggested that sewing was a hobby of hers. 

He could recall her mentioning it in passing while Goro was trying very hard not to jab her with his pointy elbows in the Morgana car, but she’d only offered to do minor clothing repairs. From years of living alone, Goro had picked up on some rudimentary hand sewing. It had come in handy to an extent later on when he was left to lick his own wounds in the depths of Mementos. A few sympathetic winces from Akira had told him that his hastily done stitches hadn’t exactly healed well. The soft kisses Akira had pressed onto each jagged scar were better treatment then he really deserved, anyway.

The idle conversations between battles had always been insufferable. Not because Goro was often trying to hide a migraine and the cat would not stop singing some song about underpaid railroad workers— though he hated that too— but because he felt lost. He was caught in an endless stream of words and no one ever taught him how to swim, leaving him to drown and gasp for air while the others drifted by with ease. All his studies and scripted television jokes couldn’t keep him afloat when they all spoke of things like recreation and hobbies and spending time with friends.

While she worked, Okumura lightly hummed a tune that Goro unfortunately recognized from one of the many “Classical Music Relaxing 10 Hours” videos he often listened to. She likely knew it from years of expensive music lessons in elementary school. Goro knew it from the painful trial and error of trying to make his brain shut up when he was alone.

A quick glance at Okumura’s work yielded surprising results. Goro knew he tended to lose track of time when he got caught up in his thoughts— his therapist had encouraged him to set alarms and specific times for all the tasks he had to do so he wouldn’t be swept away and suddenly lose an hour of his day— so the lack of visible change was perplexing. He doubted it was due to Okumura continually messing up and needing to undo her work.

Whatever she was working on looked rather small for a human-sized article. Maybe a corsage or some sort of bracelet. 

Goro turned up the tv volume just slightly. The sewing machine was a bit loud but if he raised the volume too high then it would signal to Okumura that her work was bothering him. And yes, the fact that she was suddenly in his apartment with very little explanation was a bit irksome, but he didn’t mind the sewing. It made good white noise, driving away the ghosts who were so keen on haunting him in isolation.

Given the season, all of the cooking shows were airing Halloween-themed episodes. Cakes were sculpted in the likeness of zombies and haunted houses, cookies were made to look like bats, and pumpkin flavoring was so aggressively overused that if he looked at the screen long enough Goro could taste it. It was the closest he’d get to experiencing a pumpkin spice latte since drinking chain store coffee monstrosities would incur Akira’s wrath. The boundless creativity on display almost made him want to try replicating the results, but no one would think it was fun and spooky if he accidentally poisoned someone with his shitty baking.

On the subject of baking, Akira walked through the door with full grocery bags and a big smile on his face. He dropped the bags onto the counter, waved at Haru, and then slid across the floor with his socks to plop onto the couch next to Goro. “You’re gonna help me bake with all the stuff I bought, right?” Akira asked.

“Not if you want to avoid killing anyone,” Goro replied. Akira gave him a big faux pout and he sighed. “I have a commitment with Sae-san tomorrow. If you’re still working when I get back, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Akira-kun!” Goro peered up at Okumura from underneath his bangs. Okumura paused whatever she was working on. “I hate to interrupt your time with your boyfriend, but aren’t you going to help me? This project was your idea, afterall.”

While the irrational part of his brain had decided that Okumura’s presence could be lent to a scheme or a semi-consented break-in, the part that could still submit to reason thought that she’d relocated here to avoid disrupting business matters that were occurring within her own luxurious common room. But no, this secretive operation was all Akira, she was merely an accomplice.

Akira gave him a quick kiss on the forehead and stood up, jostling the gorb on the drawer as he passed. Goro didn’t like where this was going.

x

Goro was painfully aware of the lack of warmth next to him and the unceasing whirring of a sewing machine hard at work. To make matters worse, just as he'd begun adjusting to both of those, the cat decided to leave his feet cold.

He sat up in bed, letting the blood rush to his head. “Where the fuck are you going.”

Morgana’s blue eyes pierced through the black of night. “To help Akira sew.”

“How is a cat going to help him sew? If you really want to be helpful, you’ll drag him to bed,” Goro said. If Morgana didn’t do it then Goro would have to get up and kick Akira’s ass himself

Even with the lack of light, he could see Morgana tilt his head to the side. “I thought _Joker_ had _forfeited his boyfriend privileges_.”

The heat rising in Goro’s cheeks didn’t quite make up for the absence of Akira’s body heat lying next to him. “Shut the fuck up and get that little shit in here.” 

After silently hopping off the bed, Morgana pushed the door open and went to go fetch Akira. The light shining through the crack inconveniently landed right over his eyes and he went blind. It made sense for Akira to have lights on since he was sewing, but really? All of them? He was practically begging a swarm of moths to fly under the door. 

Akira’s silhouette standing in the doorway was his saving grace. The weight of Morgana lying down on top of his feet returned and Akira slid into bed next to him. “What happened to kicking me out?” Akira teased. “Did you miss me?”

_Dearly_. “No,” Goro replied, “I just wanted the noise to stop.” Akira kissed him. “Maybe.”

Goro felt warm hands infiltrating his shirt and sneaking up to his shoulders. His breath was taken away once again, replaced with the smell of coffee and the taste of minty toothpaste. Theoretically, the combination of the two might have resulted in something repulsive, but not when it was Akira. 

“How’d I end up with the cutest boyfriend ever?” Akira breathed into his mouth.

“You didn’t.”

“Lies.” Akira’s hands moved from Goro’s back to his chest. Something soft that was decidedly not a human hand was pressed against each of his non-existent pecs. Akira’s arms removed themselves, but the foriegn objects remained stuck up Goro’s shirt.

Goro looked down at himself and sighed. “Really? This again? Are you two years old?”

Akira grinned. “They’re your _goobs_.”

“Putting the letter g in front of words does not make them suddenly hilarious.” Goro moved to take the plush orbs out of his shirt but Akira took his hands before he had a chance. “You’re incorrigible. These plushies aren’t even large enough in diameter to be anatomically accurate.”

“I can fix that.” Akira let go of one of Goro’s hands to mysteriously pull four more gorbs out from the depths of their blankets. At this point, Goro figured there was no use in stopping him from continuing his nonsense.

“Now they’re just lumpy.”

Misshapen goobs seemed inconsequential to Akira, who smiled at Goro like he was a precious gift– high in value and imperative to preserve. “Sweet dreams honey.” Akira put his head on the pillow and instantly was out cold.

If Goro didn’t take the gorbs out of his shirt before resting himself, it was only because he was too tired of this shit to bother.

x

Each tick of the clock on the wall felt like the eraser end of a pencil poking Goro’s forehead. Not painful like the sharpened end would be, but increasing in obnoxiousness with the passage of time.

Tedium would seem a probable cause for his state of woe. For one to be “bored to tears” was not a wholly uncommon statement, although it tended to be solely metaphorical. The thought of it being taken literally seemed quite absurd, but Goro decided he wasn’t really one to talk about weird reasons for getting upset when he could cite objectively stranger examples from his own life from as early as last week. 

But boredom was not the ailment at play here. He had plenty of work to do and the plush orb he’d found hiding in his briefcase was silently imploring him with its big eyes to keep on typing away. 

His current job was to transcribe the audio from the pseudo-interrogation Sae had done this morning. Even as a defense attorney, she remained as relentless as ever. She cited Akira’s plight as the cause for her change of heart in terms of her role in the justice system, and Goro had no doubt that Akira’s case had been instrumental in directing her aggressive persistence onto the path of true justice.

Their current client was a man accused of stealing the funds of his company. Sae had gone into this series of questionings hoping to get a definitive answer for herself as to whether or not he was innocent, and to hopefully find some evidence along the way. So while she lined up the next set of interviews with a new batch of related people, Goro took today’s work and transformed it into a document that she could annotate.

He’d been present during the actual sessions, ironically to take on the role of good cop. Er. Good detective. Defense attorney? Gay little assistant boy? Whatever the fuck his job was. Hearing his own voice all saccharine and calm was jarring considering that he’d been plucking the threads of the seat cushion beneath him the entire time.

Another minute passed and the phantom pencil was still poking at Goro’s head while the plush orb willed him to resist masochistically including his stutter when transcribing his own words. Every time he heard his voice get stuck he wanted to shake his past self and force him to just spit it out with a solid slap on the back.

Across the room, Sae was on the phone with someone who Goro assumed he might be meeting in person soon enough. It was difficult to get the words of Sae-from-this-morning down correctly when Sae-from-right-now was just as loud and just as confrontational. Goro kept looking up at his screen to find a mutated combination of the past and present crafted by his own traitorous fingers, which he then had to grumpily backspace and redo.

Time trudged along and he had to keep replaying the same few seconds over again because he couldn’t entirely hear Sae over some weird strangled coughing noise he’d made. Every time he heard it he nearly tossed the recorder out the window. He should’ve sat further away.

Thank god he’d be the last person to listen to this damned recording once the transcription was complete. Any second-hand embarrassment he felt listening to it would be kept between him and the bed of dirt readied for his corpse.

Because he’d been an idiot and hadn’t paused the recorder (in fear of deleting their progress by mistake), Goro had to skip ahead through ten minutes of awkward waiting time between interviews. Except he couldn’t skip through it because there was talking the whole time and he needed to make sure he didn’t miss anything. 

So he was treated to hearing himself open his briefcase to retrieve his big water bottle, only to find a plush orb sitting right next to it. At which point he had taken off his jacket, screamed into it, and put it back on while muttering something about Akira. 

There was also something that sounded kind of like a maraca, which Goro realized quite morbidly could either be his medication or a bunch of cool rocks he’d forgotten to take out of his very professional briefcase.

While internally bemoaning his own idiocy, the clock struck. Seven at night.

Goro saved his work and shut his computer. He looked up at Sae hoping to meet her eyes, only for her to still be on the phone.

“Sae-san?” he called out.

She turned around and glanced at him, then she said to the person on the other line, “My apologies, hold on a moment.” Sae took the phone away from her ear. “Yes, Akechi-kun?”

“It’s seven.”

Her eyes looked down at her watch. “Yes, it is. What about it?”

Three words should not have had as much of an effect on him as they did. Yet they were all it took to guillotine any anticipation that’d been building up for the past week. It was marked on his paper calendar with exclamation points drawn in multiple colors. On his phone, he had even used a colon and a parenthesis to recreate a sideways smile as many other people his age often did to express digital joy. 

Had Goro misheard when the plans were made? Was it actually scheduled for next week and he was making a big deal over a simple error on his part? Or perhaps there were no plans at all, just a fantasy dreamt up by a mind aching for connection.

He blinked and suddenly Sae appeared closer to his desk than she’d been a moment ago. “Akechi-kun? I promised you sushi, didn’t I? I can’t believe I forgot.”

So he was not delusional. Good to know. “It’s alright,” Goro said as if he had not just internalized the annihilation of his hopes and dreams. “You’re awfully busy after all.”

“That’ll just make this dinner more of a relief. You can pack up your things, I’ll go start the car.”

The chances that Sae and Goro’s therapist were accomplices were extremely high, especially given how instrumental Sae had been in dragging Goro kicking and screaming through the office door. In his sessions, his therapist had recently been suggesting that he start rewarding himself when he did good things. Beating himself into the ground was practically a reflex at this point, retraining his brain to even entertain the notion of worthiness would surely be a lengthy process. 

So upon giving him a week of long hours and talking to people, Sae had promised light at the end of the tunnel: quality sushi. It meant missing dinner with Akira, but who the hell would he be to ignore the call of (free, for him at least) gourmet sushi.

Goro slid into the passenger seat with a full briefcase. The orb he’d found inside was attached to the handle and bounced around as they drove. It was only not tucked away with his laptop because the recorder took up extra space. Certainly not because Goro thought it was cute.

Two stools at the sushi bar were waiting for them. To avoid the risk of losing it, Goro rested his briefcase in his lap. Normally he would rest it on an extra chair, but that seemed like a tall order at such a nice restaurant. It’d be a nightmare if that seat turned out to be reserved by someone else. Goro adjusted his shirt collar in the warped reflection of his water glass.

Sae broke the ice. “Makoto told me she’s going to a Halloween party at Akira’s place. And if I’m not mistaken, you two share an apartment.”

Goro sighed. “Indeed, we do.”

“I’m surprised that Okumura isn’t the host. I can’t imagine why you’d all decide to cram nine teenagers in an apartment built for two,” she said.

“Me neither.”

The conversation that had sealed his fate as co-host was burned into his brain. At first, it had just been three of them in Leblanc. Akira behind the counter, Goro seated across from him, and Yoshizawa— fresh out of three hours of training— in the next seat over. Then Futaba had burst through the entrance. There was nothing unusual about that, truthfully. Her entrances were practically a staple of the Leblanc brand to the few regulars. 

But then the entire group of them had appeared right behind her. It had gone from Goro successfully sustaining a pleasant conversation with Yoshizawa to Goro being unable to hear himself think at all. And when he couldn’t think he couldn’t speak without making a fool of himself.

Sakamoto, ever the epitome of elegance, had been quick to get straight to the point. “What the actual eff are we doing for Halloween?”

A horror movie marathon had been suggested almost instantly, but Okumura had glumly informed them that a business meeting would be happening upstairs that night so her house was off limits. Which had also removed her from the list of possible hosts for the party that would be suggested soon after.

It had been Morgana who pointed out that gatherings had usually been hosted in Akira’s room in the past, so it would only make sense that the leader of the Phantom Thieves would once again double up as the host of the festivities. In that moment, Goro had decided that Morgana had forfeited his lap privileges next time Goro was watching tv.

The whole group didn’t need much more than one person to agree for the rest of them to follow along. Goro had tried to raise his voice in protest, but he was drowned out but the delighted exclamations of his “peers.” He had glared at Akira, who had nothing to offer except an apologetic wince.

“They all just decided to invade my house without my consent,” Goro grumbled. “The apartment is made for two people. It can’t fit nine.”

Sae nodded sympathetically. “I see. Have you spoken to your therapist about it?”

“I have,” Goro replied. He tapped his chopsticks idly. “She said I should see how it goes; it might be good for me to participate in a casual gathering with people my age. And I should keep the bedroom off limits, both so I have an area I can control and so I can go be alone there if I’m feeling unwell.”

It’d almost been comical how immediately she’d been able to detect his unease with the idea of the party as soon as he brought it up. Considering that her _job_ was to help him regulate and cope with his emotions, it was no wonder that she could read him better than most, but Goro couldn’t help but wonder if he’d just looked completely miserable as soon as he mentioned it.

Before Sae could open her mouth, Goro’s phone started having a seizure inside his pocket. He did his best to ignore it, staring into her eyes to implore her to continue. When it became clear that she wouldn’t continue until he checked his phone, he reluctantly took it out.

120 missed messages. Usually Goro muted the group chat— mostly to eliminate a potential source of frustration before the spamming made him explode— but recently people had started texting him individually to ask why he never responded to anything. As an unwilling host, keeping it on was probably the responsible thing to do anyway. Even if the sheer quantity of messages buried any useful information and made his eye twitch.

“Make that ten people,” Goro groaned. “Takamaki asked if her girlfriend could come and apparently it's up to the guests to decide that, not the hosts.”

“Would you have said yes?” Sae asked.

Goro shrugged. “Nine is already far too many. Adding one more won’t make things much different. And I like Takamaki, so it’d be rude not to.” 

He was sure Takamaki was dating a perfectly nice girl with as much empathy overflowing her heart as Takamaki herself had. On their outings together, Takamaki had gushed to Goro endlessly about Suzui. She had a remarkable talent for whittling away at his walls enough to get him to do the same about Akira, and once that dam was broken there was no stopping the flood. Embarrassing for sure, but Takamaki never teased aside from throwing the word “adorable” around as if it could ever apply to him.

“Do you want me to tell Makoto anything before she starts heading over?” Sae offered.

“No, I can’t ask anyone to spend the evening babysitting her friends just because I failed to be assertive in the moment.” It was much too late to bring anything up to Akira, and he’d been very hesitant to shut down Akira’s decor plans as soon as they’d started taking shape.

Goro plopped a piece of sushi into his mouth. It was delicious, as expected. The difference in quality between this and the conveyor belt stuff was tangible. Not that the latter was bad, but this felt special. He sighed.

“I’ll just have to deal with it. That’s nothing new.”

x

In Goro’s experience, familiarity was far more often a curse rather than the blessing so many made it out to be. The muscle memory of pulling a trigger always brought company, the voices of the victims taunting and jeering and begging until only the sound of the gun firing would dispel them. A warning shot to the dead, a killing blow to the living who fell right before his eyes.

The vibrations of his phone never failed to prompt bile to rise in his throat and tremors to overtake his body. His shaking hands could not distinguish the difference between friend or foe until he accepted the call and heard the voice on the other line greeting him. He knew he would always answer regardless of who it was. It was an impulse he could not escape from a time when failing to pick up promptly would mark an accelerated end to his life.

There were no guns in the apartment (Goro had stopped hiding one under his bed after moving into a new place with Akira) and the damn phone was charging in their bedroom, yet Goro found himself ensnared by a familiarity that refused to leave. 

Rationally, he could easily divorce himself from his unease by absorbing the unfamiliar stimuli surrounding him. The apartment had become a familiar place, but in a way that wrapped him up in warm blankets instead of strapping him down to be tortured. Akira was walking around putting the finishing touches on the decorations before their guests arrived. Despite their high quantity, no traumatic events in Goro’s life had ever occurred within a room adorned with color coordinated streamers and balloons. 

Homemade cookies joined an assortment of other snacks sprawled across the kitchen table and their counters. Even more unknown elements would be introduced when Akira’s friends entered with their own varied energies and contributions. 

Akira himself was a mystery as well. Upon being asked about his costume, all he would offer was a sly smile and some teasing about Goro being awfully eager to find out. Currently, Goro knew it was inside the black garment bag hanging on their coat rack, waiting to be slipped on just before the fun began. He had noticed the glint of earrings, but that could easily be brushed off as insignificant.

Usually, Goro loved a good mystery. It kept the gears turning in the right direction. But the feeling remained, potent and potentially dangerous to his functioning should it continue on. His mission was to _try_. Failure to do even that would be unacceptable.

“Honey,” Akira said while plugging in the fairy lights he’d purchased just for the occasion. When he crouched down, it revealed sheer black material up to his waist. “You might want to go get changed now before everyone else arrives.”

Goro’s costume was in their bedroom. The designated sacred private space during this invasion of the larger sacred private space. He walked over to Akira and slotted his head into the crook of the other boy’s neck. “Are you sure you don’t need help with anything?”

“I’m sure. Go change so I can surprise you before everyone else gets here.” Akira kissed the side of his head.

“You always surprise me,” Goro said, but he left for their bedroom after one last moment of just the two of them.

When it’d come down to it, Goro had decided there was more shame in spending a lot of money on something he’d barely wear than there was in settling with a cheap costume. It’d been a hard call to make, but given that he currently felt like his stomach was filled with spiders he decided he’d definitely made the right choice.

The green sweater was switched out for a festive vest with Halloween-themed designs stitched across the front. Goro shuffled through his closet to find the cardboard box housing the real “costume” component of his outfit. 

He stood in front of the mirror to make sure nothing was crooked while he lowered the headband onto his head. Just as he’d hoped, the fuzzy cat ears perfectly blended into his hair. If the colors hadn’t matched it would’ve driven him up the wall all night. The clip-on tail was attached to his khakis and the look was complete.

The image reflected at him in the mirror was wholly underwhelming. There was no element of fantasy, none of the transformative power that he’d felt as a child was present. And these dumb ears alone cost more than all of Goro’s childhood costumes combined.

Perhaps that was the blessing of youth. All capacity for imagination had been drained out of him by the vicious combo of time and experience. With that light seeped from him, he was left weary and exhausted.

Or the cat costume was frankly far more impersonal than dressing up as a brave hero. There was no link between the image he presented and the dreams lying dormant within him. 

Cats do nothing. They plunge their heads into bowls of food or milk and lap it up with their tongues. Their owners are invested in maintaining their trust so they pamper them endlessly with affection at no cost. All their anger is taken out on a post and no one berates them for it. It’s all long hours of slumber and warms hands petting them gently.

Goro noticed himself scowling in the mirror and ran his hands down his face to wipe it off. 

Maybe if he added eyeliner whiskers it would look like he at least tried. He popped upon the cap on an old pen that he’d been meaning to throw out and tried to draw three straight lines across each of his cheeks. They came out asymmetrical and awful, so he had to tear out a makeup wipe to remove it all. Which also meant reapplying his normal makeup.

He beat the foundation and concealer into his face with a makeup sponge. A gorb was nestled in the cabinet of course, its unblemished felt face staring directly into his soul. Goro gave it two begrudging pats on the head before painting his eyelashes with mascara.

Akira’s voice was clear even through the walls. “Goro! People are starting to show up!”

Fuck. The continuous motion of the minute hand on the clock hit Goro like a truck. His time was up. His fate was sealed. The gorb on the shelf surely agreed. 

“I-I’ll be out soon!” Goro hollered back, nearly choking on the first syllable. 

He took a cup and filled it with water from the sink. Normally, he’d much prefer some sparkling water, but that was in the fridge and there were people partying in his living room now. Water actually didn’t do much to calm his nerves, but at least he was going into this shitshow somewhat hydrated.

Goro left the bathroom and stood in front of the bedroom door– the threshold between privacy and chaos. He had done interviews all the time in front of crowds of judgemental strangers and obsessive fans. He had kept his composure through every phone call and harrowing meeting with the man who’d eternally damned him while he was still in the womb. In comparison, this should be a breeze.

He tentatively stepped out into the open and closed the door behind himself. What awaited him was a wall of noise and a sea of people. Costumed bodies huddled around near his shelves where his possessions were stored. They leaned on the kitchen table that he’d picked out and built with Akira’s help. The space he sought refuge in during bouts of anxiety was overtaken by the source of it.

One who is not accustomed to having a home surely cannot be expected to fulfill the duties of a proper host.

“Senpai?” Goro was startled out of his horrified daze and found Yoshizawa standing next to him. Using a ruffled teal skirt and a sheer purple top adorned with shells, she’d transformed herself into a graceful mermaid. Her probing eyes bore into him as if she was seeing a legged person for the first time. “You don’t look so good. I-I mean, your costume is very nice, but you weren’t moving. Is everything alright?”

She might as well have taken a spray bottle and spritzed him in the face because the next thing he knew he was closing the bathroom door behind him. The slam caused the voices outside to pause their chatter. Perhaps they noticed something was amiss and would decide to leave. But the quiet didn’t last, and they were quick to resume as if nothing had happened.

To make matters worse, he almost slipped and died because some imbecile had thought it amusing to leave a bunch of fucking plushies on the floor. Goro had to grip the sink to steady himself, only to realize that the sink was filled with them too. One poor sucker had rolled so that his felt face was staring into the drain. How unsanitary.

Goro sat down on the toilet and scooped the floor orbs into his arms. He pressed them into his stomach to force the labored breaths to come out. He knew he was being childish. That didn’t stop him from drawing his knees into his chest, trying to fit his entire adult sized body onto the little seat as he’d done so many times when he was smaller.

In the early years he’d settled for a closet. But bathrooms locked from the inside. They’d bang on the door and scream until he sobbed, but he still had power. No matter how much they yelled and how much the earth shook, no one had been able to touch Goro unless he opened that door and let them. 

“You’ll keep me company, right?” Goro murmured into his knees. Unfortunately, he got no reply. The mouths of the soft orbs in his arms were permanently stitched into identical tiny smiles.

A sharp knock on the door made Goro instinctively shove his fist into his mouth to muffle his shriek. The leather of his glove creaked while his teeth dug into it, leaving a rubbery taste in his mouth. It was at least less unpleasant than the taste of blood when he had bitten his knuckles as a child.

Sakamoto’s wince was audible from the other side of the door. “Oops uh. Sorry ‘bout that. ...Happy Halloween, Akechi.”

Goro wondered if drowning in the toilet bowl would be a means of dying that properly conveyed what was going on in his brain. In a shitty catboy costume, no less.

When he heard Sakamoto’s voice again, he latched onto the sound, waiting for the killing blow to his pride. It never came. “Hey, man. Can I use the bathroom in your room?”

That was only worse. The one boundary he’d set, potentially breached as a result of his own chronic cowardice. He so easily could’ve walked a few steps backwards and retreated to the designated Goro space like he was supposed to. But panic held his reason as a hostage, leaving fear to seek the closest open door.

Given the context, he could assume that Sakamoto had been speaking to Akira. The low baritone confirmed it. “Well, uh. We’re keeping the bedroom strictly off limits. I think Goro’s still in there too, and he’s definitely not expecting someone else to come in. Even though it's Halloween, I really think scaring him is not the best idea.”

“Uh, dude. He’s the one in the bathroom. That’s the whole reason I asked.” Goro was very glad he could not see Akira’s face. It would have probably sickened him to his stomach. The sigh he heard was more than enough.

“I’ll go talk to him. If anyone asks what’s going on or tries to walk over to me, I want you to distract them.” 

Akira’s footwear of choice clacked against the floorboards, growing in volume until Akira stopped just in front of the door. He didn’t knock. The shoes had been his knock. Goro knew full well that Akira was capable of being completely silent even in Takamaki’s stilettos. Cognitive thievery had trained him to make himself imprescriptible, therefore making the moment when he struck all the more dramatic. His shoes clicking had been to let Goro know he was coming.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Akira asked, his voice soft and gentle like none of the people who tried to drag him out of hiding had ever been.

Goro moved his hand away from the face and chewed the inside of his cheek. “I’m being stupid.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why am I acting like a child!” Goro snapped.

Akira didn’t yell over him. He waited a moment, likely considering his words. Perhaps that was part of what made them work. It was all about balance, the two of them cancelling each other out and keeping each other in check. Though as much as Akira insisted that it was an equal trade (and Goro _knew_ it was an equal trade) it was hard for Goro not to think that he was constantly giving Akira the short end of the stick.

“I have a surprise for you,” Akira said. “But I can only show it to you if you come out of the bathroom.” When Goro didn’t respond right away he hastily added, “It’ll only take a second, I promise. Then if you’re not feeling well, you’re totally free to go lie down in our room.”

A surprise. That had to be what Akira and Okumura had been cooking up with all of the sewing. Goro hadn't really seen Okumura in the brief moment where he'd been in the common room, but the flash of color he'd noticed was enough for him to determine that the item she'd been working on wasn't a small component of her costume.

The element of surprise was perhaps what had driven him into hiding in a ball. His apartment was a space that he was meant to control, and a party introduced too many new variables at once for him to determine how the night would play out. It was better to prevent a public outburst before it happened rather than taking the chance that those stray variables might trigger an explosive reaction.

The former thieves especially had a penchant for making Goro's head explode. Their friendly pokes and nudges and claps on the back were enough to put him on edge for hours, calculating every movement in a futile attempt to guess when he should be steeling himself for casual touches. And the way they yelled over each other was infuriating. Even if Goro did stand out there in a little clump of them and listen, there was a 90% chance that as soon as he finally got his bearings and had something to contribute, someone would yell over him and the opening for his point would vanish.

Akira was content to let him talk endlessly about anything. Even when he was running out of things to say, Akira would reignite him with a thoughtful question. The knowledge that Akira was closely listening to every word was enough to keep Goro going on for another hour.

An Akira surprise sounded good. Indulging Akira's antics for only a brief moment was the least Goro could do for him in return anyway. He unfolded his body and curled his hand around the doorknob. The lock clicked when he undid it. If he turned it back now, he would just feel like a coward. A textbook scaredy-cat, if you wanted to be insufferably specific about it.

The door opened and Goro almost choked. The gorbs fell out of his arms and rolled across the floor, one landing right next to a heeled boot. Goro slowly looked up, following that boot to where it cut off at the knee, then taking in the mesh stockings and the skirt with slits so high they nearly reached the belt around the waist. And then there was Akira's face, all dolled up with long lashes and bright red lipstick.

Goro's face felt hot. Maybe he actually had a fever and really did need to go lie down.

"This is a very good surprise" was all Goro could say without collapsing into a stuttering tangent.

From the looks of it, Akira aimed to leave him a flushed mess anyway, because he took Goro's face and cupped his chin in his hand. His face was still gentle with concern but _fuck_ that outfit was making Goro run in circles chasing his stupid clip-on tail.

"I'm glad you like it," Akira replied. "I got it just for you." Goro could absolutely see wearing those deathtrap shoes for a whole night as an act of sacrifice. Akira towered over him like this though. And he was very okay with it. "Do you think you're feeling up to joining everyone for a bit?"

It was very hard for Goro to take his eyes off of Akira to glance at the colorful cast of characters filling up his living room. Which perhaps made staying in the main area sound extremely appealing. He could just fawn over Akira all night and no one could really blame him for it. Any straight guy with eyes would do the same. Goro would absolutely kick them in the shins for ogling _his_ boyfriend, but he'd at least understand.

Instead of allowing himself to say something stupid and gay, Goro nodded. The smile Akira gave him in response nearly blinded him with how dazzling it was. Damn, he was lucky.

"Great! Now I get to show you the other surprise before everyone else leaves," Akira said. Right next to the handcuffs– Goro hadn't noticed them before but now that he had he couldn't stop staring– there was something else clipped to Akira's belt. He took it off and held it out in his hands for Goro to see.

It shouldn't have shocked Goro in the slightest to see a smiling orb. What else could he expect from the madman who kept buying more and more of those damn things? But this one wore a little black cape around his non-existent neck and appeared to have a "costume" slipped on. It was a black suit with a slit cleverly cut out so that the original button up and tie on the plush were still visible.

"Is this your convoluted way of saying you wanted me to be a sexy vampire?" Goro asked. "Because it's far too late for me to get a new costume on time."

"No, I like what you have on now. You look adorable." Akira's gentle smile turned into a smirk that looked stupidly hot with his outfit. "Gorb just wants to suck your blood."

"What?"

Akira nuzzled the plush against Goro's neck without warning. He said in a high pitched baby voice and a stupid accent, "I vant to suck your blood!"

Goro cursed his own ticklishness. "Hey! Cut that out. At least wait until we're alone before you start up with your nonsense."

"You love my nonsense."

"Admittedly, it _can_ be entertaining. But later." Goro felt the snort-laugh coming on and he did _not_ need to be doing that in front of other people. No matter how much Akira insisted that it was cute.

The shrug Akira gave him in response was not very reassuring. “Whatever you say, honey.”

“Can I pee now?”

They both tore their eyes away from each other to see Sakamoto looking very pained. His costume was a onesie resembling some sort of cute yellow mascot character that Goro had definitely seen in a store window before. He didn't think it belonged to any of those particular brands though. Sakamoto's hood had floppy little ears and a cute face with round red cheeks.

Relieving himself would probably entail unzipping the whole thing and letting it sit on the dirty bathroom floor. Goro did not envy him, despite how soft the material looked. Akira awkwardly pulled Goro away from the door and Sakamoto almost stepped on several gorbs on his way in.

Before the door closed, Sakamoto had one last thing to say. “I thought you were gonna be a sexy criminal. You know. To match Akira.”

Given the... _nature_ of Akira’s outfit, Goro didn't even want to know what that entailed. But before he could stop his stupid mouth, he said, “That wouldn't be a costume.”

Sakamoto gave him a once over. “Hm. Fair.” And then the door was shut.

In a valiant effort to separate himself from whatever the fuck just happened, Goro took in the room around him. Besides the invasion of temporary and easily removable decorations, his sanctuary seemed to have remained unscathed in the face of the influx of people inside of it. If anything, the decor served as protection. The cheap table cloth would keep anything from actually spilling on their table and the faux spider webs discouraged stray hands from poking at all of the knick knacks. 

While things were seeming better than he had expected them to be, that did not mean his skepticism and his worries had been totally unfounded. The soft, comfy couch that had housed many a cuddle session and many a panic attack appeared to be the first victim of the night.

Goro forced himself to part from his tantalizingly attractive rival to go scold the lawless scoundrel who dared sully his beloved crying couch. Yes, Goro had allowed crumbs to get between the cushions and cat hair to weld with the fabric, but he wasn't indecent enough to get an ass-shaped stain of paint on it.

"Kitagawa," Goro said. Unfortunately, his costume seemed to nullify any and all attempts of intimidation he could possibly muster so long as the big fluffy cat ears rested upon his head. Or that might have simply been Kitagawa being oblivious. Goro hoped for the latter.

Kitagawa looked up from the sketchbook in his lap. A frame made of spray-painted cardboard hung around his neck. By itself, it was a clever and fitting costume. Kitagawa had even painted the missing chunk of the frame on his neck in impressive detail.

But to Goro's dismay, that wasn't the full costume. From head to toe, Kitagawa's entire body had been painted with bold strokes that Goro didn't recognize as any particular work of art. It might have been an original work, or maybe art wasn't exactly one of Goro's fields of expertise. Either one seemed feasible.

As bizarre as it was, Kitagawa had made himself into a work of art. And he would undoubtedly be finding paint in weird places for the next few days regardless of how good the water pressure at the Kosei dorms was. Goro didn't exactly have high hopes in that regard.

"Would you be so kind as to get your naked ass off of my couch?" Goro asked darkly. This was likely the only instance where he would ever loom over Kitagawa, so he had to milk it for what it was worth.

Unsurprisingly, Kitagawa was unbothered. The imperceptibly small number of fucks he gave was admittedly admirable. "I would not walk into someone else's home naked," Kitagawa assured him. He pulled on the skin of his upper thigh to reveal that it wasn't skin at all. "I am wearing shorts."

The neurons in Goro's brain fired too many snappy comebacks– mostly along the lines of " _that's underwear you dipshit_ "– at the same time, and thus his vocal cords failed to vocalize any of them. "Aren't you cold?"

"A true artist is willing to face the elements head-on for the sake of pursuing true beauty. Minimal fabric is required for maintaining a consistent canvas."

With how chilly it was, even lending Kitagawa his cat ears had to qualify as community service. Goro would tell Sae and she'd give him a shitty plastic trophy with "Good Fucking Boy Award" written on it in a dying permanent marker.

But then he wouldn't have a costume and he'd get shit on for that. "I am banning you from the couch and the balcony. If you got paint on there, I'm making you come back to pick it off yourself." Goro said.

Somehow, Kitagawa gave even fewer fucks. Goro's eyes followed him as he walked away, past the coffee table and towards the kitchen. As expected, Akira had left the damned pumpkin in the center where it silently laughed at him. The candle flickering within the hollow shell only made it look eerier.

But that wasn't the interesting part of the coffee table. The interesting part was the cluster of little orbs gathered around it as if they were worshipping their glorious glowing god. And they all bore replicas of the uniforms of the Featherman rangers.

There was Red Hawk, Black Condor, Blue Swan, Yellow Owl, White Swallow, Pink Argus, and then a seventh tiny ranger sat among the rest of them. Goro picked it up.

The little orb proudly wore the uniform of Grey Pigeon, irrefutably the most underrated and underutilized character in the entire history of the series.

Undoubtedly, this was Akira's doing. Okumura had been an accomplice, but Akira had slipped into Joker's sexy black elf boots again and gone on yet another quest to steal some hearts. And as much as Goro was reluctant to drop the curtain of irritation and submit to the will of the Phantom Thief, this operation had been a success.

If Akira had just googled the Featherman rangers or asked Futaba, there would've only been six orbs creepily hailing their pumpkin overlord. Any knowledge of Grey Pigeon had to have come directly from one of Goro's embarrassingly long info-dumps where he detailed his thoughts on the series and Akira nodded along.

Gorb's face– a stylized replica of his own, he would at least acknowledge that– smiled up at him and confirmed what he was thinking. Akira paid attention to his mad ravings. For all his resistance to sentimentality, Goro found it undeniably sweet. As if he'd poured the entire bowl of sugary junk on the table into his mouth and was getting to enjoy it without the complimentary stomach ache and sensation of plaque coating his teeth.

Maybe hosting wasn't so bad. At least he could go brush his teeth whenever he wished and not be mocked for bringing a toothbrush to someone else's house. Given how intent Akira seemed on giving him several cavities and destroying their shared dental bills, he would need it.

"Akechi-kun!" If anyone asked why Goro jumped ten feet in the air at the sound of his name being called...well hopefully no one would be rude enough to ask. He looked in the general direction of the noise and found Okumura– a known dangerous orb conspirator– beckoning him over to the table with her hand.

Goro gently reunited Gorb Pigeon with the rest of his team and walked over. There was a grotesquely large cauldron of punch on the table, decorated to match Haru's cutesy witch costume. Despite her aesthetic innocence, Goro was certain that she had a spell that would take all nine of his miserable lives in one swoop.

"I've been testing out _potions_ that I might be able to use in new Okumura Foods business ventures," Okumura explained. Goro thought about a broadcast with black goo pouring down a man's face and bit down on his lip. If Okumura noticed, she had no pity for his discomfort. And honestly, good on her. "I know it was all part of the act, but you ran a popular food blog, did you not?"

He rarely ever ate the food he photographed. Often he'd been unable to stomach it. And not because of foul tastes. "I did."

Okumura smiled. "I thought so. That makes you the best person to critique my punch!" She poured a glass with the ladle and handed it over to him. "Instead of outsourcing soda machine drinks from large companies who over-utilize sugar, I've decided to try my best to create original drinks myself. You don't have to drink all of it. Just a sip will do."

Maybe minimal sugar was a deliberate move to keep little bastards with low blood sugar– aka Akechi Goro– out of her respectable establishment. And again: good on her. Goro took the cup and stared into the pink abyss. It didn't smell like poison, but that didn't mean much.

He was bringing the drink up to his lips when Okumura made a little surprised noise. She looked down and he took a sip. The punch did taste rather pleasant; Goro could pick out the distinct flavors of different fruits brought together. However, the lack of added sugar was reflected in the flavor. Any kids who got this from the soda machine would be quite disappointed to find that despite the bright pigment the taste was watered down.

Okumura giggled and crouched out of Goro's line of sight. She reappeared with Morgana cradled in her arms. "I think you and Mona-chan might have switched costumes, Akechi-kun."

Perhaps that was half true, but Goro was not a black cat. He'd very meticulously picked out ears identical to his own hair color. Akira had jokingly looked up argyle sweaters for cats before, but it didn't look like he'd shoved Morgana into one.

Then Okumura adjusted Morgana's position and Goro choked on his second swig of sugarless fruit punch. Hung around Morgana's neck was some sort of round bib-like article with the face of a familiar little piece of unsolicited merchandise.

Goro swore he was going to find whoever had decided to start the production of those damned _royal investigator orbs_ and make them financially compensate him for emotional damages. Shido hadn't been able to give him much from jail– and he didn't want that bastard's fucking pity anyway– so it would only seem right that he finally got something out of the Detective Prince nonsense.

Or perhaps Okumura's plan the entire time had been to show him Morgana and make him choke. He would find Akira and give him a piece of his mind, but Akira had handcuffs and could easily stomp him into the ground right now.

"The punch is... _lovely_ , Okumura-san," Goro wheezed. "Though I fear from a business perspective that many younger customers will miss the sugar they are so accustomed to."

Okumura let Morgana perch on her shoulder, completing her image of a cute witch. Goro could not make himself stop staring at the stupid fucking costume. "Hm. I'll keep that in mind. Thank you for your input," she said.

Kitagawa walked up to the bowl and took an inhumanely large sip of punch. At least Okumura did not need to worry about starving artists disliking her recipe.

And Goro just kind of stood there not knowing what else to do with himself. No other voices or threats to his home were grabbing his attention. He left to wonder what on earth people actually did at parties.

The only sort of parties he'd ever been to were when it was someone's birthday in elementary school and the class had put a pause on education so they could eat snacks. Normally, Goro had looked forward to it. Maybe the birthday boys and girls hadn't liked him, but he had still gotten a cupcake or popsicle. That had meant he wouldn't have to bother his mother with his rumbly stomach later on.

Students had noticed his birthday on the calendar and probed him with questions about where his birthday treat was. They had only paid attention to him when they wanted something out of him. He had said he wasn't able to get any snacks and they went back to ignoring him after an insult here or there.

When they all gathered in Leblanc, Goro could sit at the counter and mind his own business with a crossword puzzle and a cup of coffee. But he was the host. He couldn't just go sit in a corner and ignore everyone. He'd tried that already and it resulted in him endangering bladders. Besides, the removal of Yusuke had opened up the couch for Takamaki and her girlfriend– who he recognized from Takamaki's phone wallpaper.

Introducing himself might not be a bad idea, actually. It was a bit weird that Suzui was lying on his couch and he hadn't even bothered to say hello. All he had to do was walk over there and tell her his name.

Goro remembered how he'd stood behind a wall waiting for an opening into the conversation when he first met Akira and instantly winced. That infamous fuck up still haunted him to this day, the golden example of social incompetency.

This could be a chance to redeem himself and prove that he was, in fact, capable of interacting with people without being overcome with the urge to chuck himself down three flights of stairs. The fact that he already knew Takamaki gave him an advantage over the pancake incident too.

He ignored the sound of Sakamoto yelping about who-knows-what on the balcony outside and headed straight for the couch. To his dismay, Takamaki had taken notice of the orb summoning circle and was cooing over the costumes.

She looked up at him and beamed. "Akechi! Where have you been all night?"

Takamaki had the great honor of being on the very short list of people who were likely to consistently see through his bullshit. This made her a very good person for him to have as a friend. It did not make her a good witness to have around when he was trying to make a good first impression.

He lied and hoped she would save her probing for another time. "Oh. I couldn't find my costume for a bit and I didn't want to show up without it."

Before Takamaki could call him out, he cut her off to introduce himself. "It's nice to meet you, Suzui-san. Takamaki-san has spoken highly of you. And your costumes look lovely."

The two of them were a gorgeous blonde pirate and her loyal parrot companion. Had Suzui been someone he already knew, Goro might've bemoaned the possibility of feathers getting all over the floor. But he could be polite and keep himself contained for now.

"It's nice to meet you too, Akechi-san," Suzui replied. Then her gentle expression turned into something Goro associated with Akira. Suzui giggled. "Ann told me you were super awkward."

Goro's stomach sank into his toes, fell out, and crashed through several floors beneath him. Takamaki smacked Suzui's arm lightly and gasped. Her girlfriend just laughed at her while she protested. "I did not say that! ...Okay _maybe_ I did, but I also said a lot of other good things! Like how smart you are..."

"She warned me not to scare you too badly," Suzui corrected with a teasing grin.

"...and about that one time when we were getting crepes and that creepy guy hit on me and you told him you were going to rip out his spleen."

"I appreciated that," Suzui said.

Goro's gloves were so sweaty inside that if he squeezed them into the water tank at Kosei, he could probably fix the water pressure in Kitagawa's shower. As gross as it would be. "Um. I'm glad."

“And I told her that Akira loves you so much that he wished you back from the dead _and_ he bought a gazillion more of you!” Takamaki reached towards the back of the couch and pulled out a gorb. “I’m a bit sad that Akira didn’t give any of them cat ears. You could’ve taken so many cute matching pictures!”

That might’ve been exactly the reason why Akira hadn’t given any of them cat ears. He was a little shit, but he at least had the class not to subject Goro to a half-assed photoshoot of misery. And for that, Goro was quite grateful.

“You know,” Goro started abruptly. He had to put a halt to all further discussions of orbs before people started getting ideas. “I would have expected Sakamoto to be a pirate, not you. Yet he is some sort of yellow mascot instead.”

Suzui squinted at him and he felt thoroughly judged. “That’s a Pikachu.”

The way she said it might’ve made him feel a little stupid, but at least if she was doubting Ann’s claims that he was intelligent then she wasn’t thinking about orbs.

“Ryuji was supposed to be my crewmate,” Takamaki explained, “but then he decided to be cheap and he bailed on me.”

Ah. Goro had thought his costume looked like pajamas. Granted, he was not much better, having only bought two accessories instead of a full outfit. But at least he’d put effort into tirelessly scouring the internet for the right colors. “That’s unfortunate,” Goro said.

Takamaki pressed her cheek into her hand and grumbled, “He _still_ owes me money for that dolphin in middle school too.” Suzui giggled.

Before he could even debate whether to ask or not, Takamaki took it upon herself to fill him in. She spoke louder than what Goro would personally consider normal, possibly in a petty attempt to get Sakamoto to overhear her and admit to his crimes. Goro wouldn’t fault her for that, he loved being petty.

It was a rather sweet story, actually. Sakamoto had spent the money that was meant to be used on train fare on a souvenir for his mother, and therefore had to ask Takamaki to lend a hand. Her assertion that Sakamoto should’ve let her keep all the reward money from their perverted gym teacher’s treasure was a bit unreasonable, but it did almost get a laugh out of him.

Almost.

Goro found his attention diverted from the individual stimuli around him and focused solely on Takamaki’s voice. She made it very easy for him to focus on her with how animated she was. And if he faltered at all, it was to view Suzui’s amusement at her girlfriend’s antics. He found that he could relate to both of them.

So the hissing noise coming from behind him seemed unremarkable. Dismissable as the heater deciding it had become bored with the usual array of strange sounds. It surely had to be working overtime with all the cold air being let in from the balcony.

By the time he noticed the sound resonating inside of his skull, it was already far too late to save him from his incoming fate. Someone yelled “ **BOOM!** ”, which made him shriek, whip his head around, and whack whatever it was that had attacked him.

His hand hit a big green cardboard box with two human eyeballs peering out of it. What the fuck.

The box cackled, its laughter muffled by the strange choice of headwear. “You should’ve seen your face!” Futaba said. “That was totally worth risking my head.”

Goro looked up and down at her green outfit. “What the fuck are you.”

“A creeper!”

He scoffed. “You certainly are, sneaking up on me like that.”

Futaba groaned. “No! Like Minecraft! You know? Creeper?”

Suzui said “Aww, man” and he felt not unlike he was the but of some very elaborate practical joke.

The dumb box came off of Futaba’s head, revealing all of her hair miraculously contained in a very messy bun. Goro supposed the bright orange might’ve ruined whatever the hell her costume was supposed to be. Judging from the sounds she made, he could only conclude that she was an explosive snake. Though knowing Futaba, he would not have put it past her to try actually wiggling on the ground like one if that was the case.

But she would’ve felt comfortable being unapologetically weird like that. All of them did except for him. Futaba hadn’t left her room for over a year but she was doing just fine with the whole party thing now. Granted, some of the major leaps could be owed to changing her heart, but Goro knew she’d done a lot of work on her own as well.

“Futaba-chan,” Goro said, “could I speak with you for a moment?”

She gave him a funny look. “Uh...sure? You can just talk to me like a normal person. It’s a party.”

Like a normal person. “I’d prefer to be alone,” Goro said. Futaba’s skepticism continued. “I promise I’m not going to do anything. I’m just going to ask you something.”

“I didn’t think you were gonna try anything. Just seemed weird for you.” Futaba drummed her fingers on the cardboard head in her hands. “But okay.”

Being alone didn’t really mean much more than moving a few paces away to stand by the bedroom door. But it did mean he wouldn’t be within Takamaki’s earshot. As much as he adored her, she was known to pry.

He stopped and Futaba stared up at him. Her round glasses only made her eyes look bigger, probing him silently to spit out whatever was so hush hush that he needed to physically move her away from the party.

“I wanted to ask-” Goro cleared his throat. “As a...person who also finds socializing to be disagreeable at times, you seem to be doing quite well.”

Futaba shrugged. “I mean. Yeah. These are my friends.”

The face she was giving him seemed to rip his button up shirt apart, stare at the shriveled pulsing organ that laid beneath it, and offer condolences for his horrid state of being. Goro hated it. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and sat on the floor.

“R-right. Well, I was wondering what one is meant to do with themselves at a gathering such as this one,” Goro said. “You appear to have figured it out.”

To Goro’s horror, Futaba laughed. It didn’t seem to be out of malice rather than surprise, but it didn’t exactly do his confidence any good. “Aww you’re looking to _me_ for a tutorial? That’s cute. You just boosted my morale, so I accept.” Futaba tapped a little rhythm on her box head and hummed along while she considered her response. “Well, what do you normally do when you’re hanging out with people?”

Avoid them. Wonder what made them want to waste their time on someone so unpleasant. But all of that was for his therapist to get paid to unpack, not for him to thrust onto Futaba. “There tends to be an activity linked to it, such as a game or a place to visit. Admittedly I am a bit unsure of what to do otherwise.”

That even rang true for his initial interactions with Akira. On purpose actually, since Goro had been the one sending out invitations via text and waiting with shaking hands for Akira to turn him down (he never did). It had always been a game of billiards or a night of music in the jazz club. Sure, they had talked plenty, but it always came from what they had been doing. Even their more personal chats had come up because of a relevant metaphor or a familiar memory begging to be set loose.

It wasn’t so much of a necessity for them now, but that had taken a lot of hard work. Intimate trust built over cups of coffee and movie nights had been essential to moving past it.

Futaba sighed. “You sad, emo old man. Go talk to someone! Talk to Akira even, you like talking to him even when you say you’re gonna feed his innards to the birds at the park if he doesn’t stop publicly flirting with you.”

“I don’t think I’ve used that one before,” Goro mused. “The fact that you came up with it yourself is alarming. For the sake of humanity, please don’t ever follow any example I have set.”

“Too bad. I’ve already commissioned Inari to draw me an OC with your personality and the internet ate it up. Now the people want more content and I’m gonna have to give him more money so he doesn’t die on the street. Go talk to Akira before I ruin your life with an explanation of what that means.”

Mostly out of fear, Goro scanned the room for black leather and the shine of handcuffs. To his partial dismay, Akira was out on the balcony. There was no way he wasn’t really cold in that outfit. But Goro slid the door open and went to him anyway. He did not need to find out how Futaba was exploiting his likeness for attention on the internet.

If he ran up to Akira and immediately pressed himself up against the other boy’s body, it was solely intended to keep both of them from freezing to death. The other two people lurking outside had an advantage, both having chosen to wear fluffy onesies. He now knew from Suzui that Sakamoto was a “Pikachu” and Niijima was dressed like a panda. Goro recalled seeing the same face on her hood printed on her pencil case during a study session once.

Akira’s laughter rang in Goro’s ears, but he doubted his very tactical and _not_ sentimental approach to keeping warm was the cause. Perhaps it was the fact that the normally-composed Niijima looked moments away from committing murder. 

“Did you seriously buy a bunch of tiny pumpkins just to chuck them at the ground?” she asked Sakamoto’s back. He was leaning over the edge of the balcony and looked precariously close to falling off.

“While you’re at it, get rid of some of the orbs infesting my house,” Goro mumbled. Akira ruffled his hair, which made his cat ears crooked. Maybe he should’ve suggested chucking Akira off the balcony too.

Sakamoto turned back to the three of them, holding up a baby pumpkin and grinning. “Come on, don’t you wanna know if it’ll splat or not? Besides, there's not even a dumpster down here. It’s not like I’m gonna bother anyone.”

Niijima sighed. “You can’t produce enough force with just gravity to make the pumpkin break upon impact. It’ll probably just roll into the road and cause problems for the next car that comes by.”

In the midst of stupidity, Goro saw his opportunity. An activity– however foolhardy– was present that a debate and further conversations could branch off from. Goro glanced at the scene inside and saw a few orbs in the window, almost seeming to cheer him on and hype him up for the oncoming discussion. He’d hate to disappoint.

“On the contrary, Niijima-san,” Goro began, “he also has the force produced by the outside force of his arm. If he throws it down, then the initial velocity will be higher than it would have had he solely relied on gravity. Therefore, even if the acceleration is the same in both cases, by throwing it he will have a higher velocity in the end, possibly causing the pumpkin to splat.”

“Oh my _god_ , Goro,” Akira said.

“Actually, in both cases the initial velocity is zero because at the very beginning the object is not in motion.”

“Guys I already dropped it.”

“That’s only assuming we call the moment before the fall starts the starting point.”

“It’s already gone.”

“When has anyone ever used a different starting point? It’s so much more mathematically complicated. And my point still stands. Due to air resistance and gravity, the pumpkin will not splat regardless of how hard Ryuji throws it down.”

“Oh my god stop your nerd fight, the pumpkin fell into a dumpster.”

The three of them joined Sakamoto by the railing and saw the sad little orange pumpkin sitting in a dumpster full of black trash bags. Halloween colors. Cute (?).

Goro couldn’t help it. He snorted. “Maybe you should’ve spent your money on buying a pirate costume to match Takamaki instead of conducting failed pumpkin science experiments.”

Of course, that made Sakamoto start yelling at him about how the costume Takamaki picked was way too expensive and the model looked really stupid with the hook on his hand. Goro wasn’t even listening to what he was saying, he just couldn’t stop laughing. They were all _so_ impulsive and dumb.

But at least he, an intellectual, could get a kick out of it every once in a while.

x

The last person to leave was Yoshizawa, mostly because Akira and Goro had to spend ten minutes convincing her that she didn’t have to stay to help clean up after everyone. As much as Goro would’ve genuinely appreciated her help, it was already awfully late and he had no doubt that she had an inhuman number of hours of scheduled gymnastics training to get to in the morning. He wasn’t sure if that had been Akira’s reason too. Sometimes Akira just didn’t want to hassle other people.

In hindsight, what they should’ve done was instituted a policy where you were not allowed to leave your current standing/sitting spot until it looked like you’d never been there at all. Akira told him that was a bit much, but the sticky soda spill next to their couch affirmed for Goro that his idea would’ve been a good one.

Akira, sensing his self-justification like blood in the water, said, “Goro, I love you dearly, but you’re a buzzkill. If you’re too tired to clean, we can just deal with it in the morning.”

“Procrastination is the enemy of a mind at ease,” Goro said, though he doubted becoming a procrastinator on top of everything else already happening in his brain would really have much of an impact on his mental state at this point. “And it’ll only become harder to clean the longer we wait.”

They both grabbed wet dish towels and started scrubbing at the floor while Roomba-san scurried about. Focusing on the soda stain was a bit difficult when the kneeling position only made the slits in Akira’s skirt even more noticeable.

Of course, Akira realized Goro was staring and planted a big, wet kiss on his cheek. “It was hard to resist doing that all night with how cute you look,” Akira murmured, “but I wasn’t sure if you’d appreciate the mark with everyone else around.”

Goro took his phone out of the back pocket and turned on the camera. After overcoming his initial wince at the incredibly unflattering angle, he saw a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek, perfectly preserving the shape of Akira’s lips.

“Good call,” Goro agreed. “While we’re on the topic of large quantities of other people, could we...could this not happen again?”

Akira sighed, then he nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah. I felt like a piece of shit when Ryuji told me you were hiding in the bathroom. I need to learn to put my foot down.”

“No, you’re supposed to be the good cop,” Goro corrected. “I’ve gotten too nice. A few months ago I would’ve told everyone to fuck off.”

“Being nicer is not a bad thing,” Akira said. “Just means you don’t feel like you need to scare people off so much.”

“I guess so.” Goro bit his lip and stopped scrubbing. The only noise was Roomba-san whirring softly. “We both need to improve. I need to clearly set my boundaries without threatening murder and you need to grow a spine.”

“Haha. Agreed.” Akira patted him on the back before getting up to grab another towel for the little splotch of pink paint on the couch.

Goro idly wondered if they’d need to bleach the carpet. He never made messes like this when he was living alone, and he and Akira were both pretty neat people. If nothing else, he supposed this party had been good for some solid life experience.

“I didn’t have a terrible time,” Goro told the carpet, though he knew Akira could also hear him even over the running sink. “There were parts that I did enjoy.”

“Like laughing at how dumb we all are?” Akira asked. Goro watched him approach the stained couch cushion and kneel in front of it with more elegance than Goro would ever have in heels.

Even with the streamers starting to fall off and the fairy lights turned off, one remnant of the decorations was everlasting. In every little nook and cranny imaginable by man, a small orb was poking its little face out. 

He couldn’t even feign annoyance at the sight. It was just funny. If anyone other then him had been the first to enter the bathroom and see all those orbs, he would’ve died laughing at their confusion. Goro turned his head to Akira and smiled.

“Yeah. Like laughing at how dumb you are.”

**Author's Note:**

> I deadass don’t know if Goro or Makoto is right. Maybe neither of them is. I'm a music major okay the last time I thought about physics was three years ago.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments make my day, and if you like my content then follow me [on twitter!](https://twitter.com/3muske_tears?lang=en)


End file.
